Santana Lopez Likes What She Likes, Okay?
by leftlanden
Summary: Sequel to Santana Lopez Can, In Fact, Do Anything. Drama unfolds as news of Santana and Rachel's encounter circulates, but it doesn't stop them from exploring their newfound common interests.  Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

So it turns out that in order to get credit for my little conquest over the weekend, I didn't have to tell a single soul what had happened. This was thanks to Rachel Berry's complete and total inability to play it cool, like even a little. Which, okay, I had sort of been counting on.

I walked past her on my way to my locker Monday morning and she practically gave herself whiplash trying to make sure she absolutely, positively, did _not_ look at me. I gave her one sideways glance over the top of my sunglasses and she dropped the notebook she was holding; it took her three tries to pick it up. When she finally managed to stand up, she smashed the back of her head against the bottom of her locker door.

This is the effect Santana Lopez has on the ladies. Jus' sayin.

Of course Spazberry had been talking to Puckerman at the time of her near-concussion. So ten minutes later when Mercedes asked her how her weekend was and she took seven minutes to describe how she spent Friday night picking out new pillow cases at Sears with her dads, and how Saturday she had spent the morning cleaning out the bird feeders on the front porch - all while glancing at me no less than twelve times - Noah knew something was up.

He caught up to me as I was walking to glee rehearsal that afternoon.

"Hide your wives and lock away your daughters, S-Lo in the house!" He held up his hand for me to high five. "What's up, stud?"

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. Unlike some people, I can hold my shit together. "Can I help you, Noah?"

"Just tell me it's true. Tell me the Puckster's eyes do not deceive. I mean, I know that Monday morning look, if you know what I mean, but Berry? So how far did you get? Did you get to touch those hot little Jew boobs?"

"Oh, Noah," I said, and petted his mohawk like he was my pocket chihuahua or something. Then I raised my eyebrows and waited, while reality slowly permeated his skull.

His mouth opened in awe. "Oh no way, you are shitting me! What the hell, I've been up on that twice now and I never got past second base. How'd you do it?"

"I guess she was just waiting for someone with actual game to come along."

His face got all serious and he leaned in close. "Santana, I swear on my Nana's life I will buy you dinner at Breadstix every night for two weeks if you let me in on that action."

"Okay, first of all ladies man," I said, shoving him out my personal space, "It would have to be at least three weeks. Second of all, I was only in it for the v-card. It's so not happening again."

"Please don't break my heart like that," he said solemnly.

"Hey, Santana?" Sam's voice came from a few feet behind me. "You want to tell me what you guys are talking about?"

Well, guess I was about to get this bit of drama over with. I forced a smile before I turned around, and said, "Never you mind, sweet lips. You go gets us our seats inside and mama will be right there."

He wasn't having it. He took a step toward Puckerman. "Did you sleep with her?"

"Welllll, this is awkward, I'm gonna let you two talk," Puck said and ducked into the choir room.

I followed him in, and Sam followed me.

"No Puckerman, I'm talking to you," he said. The whole club, including Berry, stopped talking and stared at the three of us.

"What's goin on, Sam?" Finn asked.

"Oh nothing, it's just now I think I get why you and Puck used to be best bros. Cause he just slept with my girlfriend."

Berry put her hands over her mouth. I mean, can you say holy freaking drama queen?

Finn shook his head sympathetically, as if somewhere in that potato dumpling head he had a kernel of actual wisdom. "It's Santana and Puck, man," he said. "I mean, you have my sympathy, but you can't be that surprised."

I glared at him and turned to Sam.

"Okay, honey?" I said, "I appreciate that you're trying to earn your testosterone badge today like a big boy, but I'm gonna say this real slow - you don't know what you're talking about. So let's just go sit in the back, I'll let you put your hands anywhere you want, and we can all just have some happy sing-y dance-y time, okay?" I took his hand and tried to pull him up to the third row of chairs.

"Stop lying to me. I heard you. You told Puck that you weren't going to sleep with him again, and he said not to break his heart."

"That true, Puckerman?" Lauren Zizes asked calmly.

He got this look of sheer terror on his face. "No! No, it's not true, I swear Zizes." Well, it had been nice that he'd found his balls for a few minutes, anyway. He looked at me pleadingly.

I weighed my options here. Noah was on my list for refusing to have sex with me like three times in a row, but I mean, I had to let him off the hook. If I messed things up with his half-ton honeybuns, he might not steal those little bottles of Goose from the Stop-N-Shop and sneak them out in his boxers for me any more.

"Fine, whatever," I said, turning to Lauren. "No, okay? I did not sleep with Puck." I looked at Sam. "I slept with someone else."

Sam turned that ginormous freshwater bass mouth into a sad-clown frown and put his hands on his head. "All right, I am officially never dating a Cheerio again." The he thought for a second and said, "Wait a minute, none of this makes sense. Why would Puckerman care if you weren't sleeping with someone ever again if it wasn't him you were sleeping with?"

The silence hung for a minute. Rachel Berry bit her sexy lower lip and stared at her feet.

A look of realization washed over Mercedes' face. "Because it's a woman. Santana slept with a woman, and Puck cares because he is just that much of a horn dog."

There was a mixture of gasps and laughter in the choir room. Artie turned immediately to Brittany.

"Artie, it wasn't me, I swear." Brittany smiled at me. "I would remember."

I winked at her.

R2D2 had the nerve to scowl at me. "Who was it, Santana? If it wasn't Brittany, who was it?"

"Artie, don't you believe me?" Brittany said sadly.

Quinn's voice came from a corner of the room.

"It was Rachel."

Everyone turned to look at her. Except Rachel, who looked at me, which pretty much confirmed what Quinn had said to everyone in the room with at least two brain cells. So smooth, Berry.

"Santana has been working extremely hard these past few weeks," Quinn continued. "Congratulations, looks like it finally paid off."

I was all set to charge up those show choir stairs, kick some chairs out of the way, and knock that superior tone into next Thursday, but Noah grabbed me by the waist and held me back.

"Whatever guys, there's no way this is true," Finn said flatly, and turned to Rachel. "Because Rachel wouldn't do that to me."

Rachel swallowed, looked at me, and looked at Finn. "Finn, before you say anything else I need you to remember that you and I have gone our separate ways, and that we continue to maintain a predominantly amicable relationship. If anything, you should be happy if I've moved on from my former state of clinginess, which you made clear you did not appreciate."

"So wait, you did this to make me. . . happy?"

"While I do continue to care about your happiness and well-being, Finn, my romantic choices are no longer centered upon the entity that was once you and me."

"B-but," He stammered, "You went crazy when I slept with Santana. And now you just. . . give yourself to her?"

"That's right, Finnadequate," I said, "She sure did. And it lasted for _hours._ You should've heard her calling my name." I curled the two middle fingers of my left hand waggled them at him in a "come here" motion.

"Santana, that's enough!" Mr. Schuester yelled from the doorway.

"I can't believe some of the things I'm overhearing in this room. Given the tension in here I don't think I have any choice but to cancel rehearsal today." He turned and looked right at me. "But I want some of us to go home and instead spend time thinking much more carefully about the consequences of our actions. And when you come back here tomorrow I expect you to leave your personal dramas at the door and act like a team. Now go."

As most of the club filed out, I stayed behind and waited for Brittany.

"So you slept with Rachel?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Are you going to make lady babies with her?" she frowned.

". . . No."

"Okay." She paused. "Did she taste like berries down there?"

". . . No. I mean, I don't know, we didn't. . . we didn't do that."

"Oh," she said, confused. "But, why?"

"I don't know, she was a virgin. I didn't want to, like, overwhelm her."

"If you find out, can you let me know? I never thought about it before, but now I realize I've been dying of suspense all along."

Outside in the hallway, Mr. Schue's speech had done pretty much squat to diffuse the drama. Finn was scrunching up his face like he smelled something really terrible, and telling Rachel he didn't want to talk to her, as if that's some kind of punishment.

Puck and Mike were grinning at each other and Tina smacked Mike on the arm, so clearly they were talking about me getting naked with Berry.

Brits and Optimus Prime were talking all sincerely, probably because he had to apologize for being an ass to her, once again.

Mercedes was talking to Sam, but he kept glaring at me.

Zizes sat Indian style in the middle of the hallway and requested popcorn from no one in particular.

And Quinn was waiting for me right outside the doorway.

"Don't mess with me, muchacha, I's about to pop off," I said to her with one finger in the air as I walked past.

"You know Santana, just when I think you can't get any more manipulative and hurtful," she said, "you manage to find ways to top yourself. It is one thing to take Sam away from someone who actually cared about him just so you could embarrass him like this. But to completely just use a person, the way you did to Rachel, that's low even for you."

The chatter in the hallway died down as everyone tuned in to Quinn and me.

"She has a point, Santana," Mercedes said, "What you did was pretty cold."

"You stay out of this, Precious. And by the way, back off the Biebs over there, cause I'm a tougher act to follow than you can manage." I turned back around to Quinn.

"And excuse me Cheaty McHypocrite, all I did was point out to Sam what he was too whipped to admit to himself. And as for Snap, Crackle, Pop over there, nobody forced her to do anything. Also, by the way, since when do you care?"

"I care about basic decency, you should try it sometime."

I was like two seconds from helping myself to handfuls of blond hair, when Berry started making a big show of clearing her throat. "Excuse me," she said, clapping her hands. "Excuse me everyone, I'd like the opportunity to address you all."

God, that would have been intolerable if I weren't able to picture what she looked like having an orgasm.

She walked over and stood between Quinn and me.

She reached out and took Quinn's hand. "Quinn, I have to say that I'm touched by your unexpected concern for my well-being in this tumultuous time. And I know most of you are experiencing a range of emotions, from betrayal to amusement and even titillation.

I also know that most of you probably view me, the virginal young ingenue, as an innocent party, and Santana here, the sultry Latina with a seedy past, as some sort of predator." She turned to me and took my hand instead.

"But I would be remiss if I didn't point out that I entered into Friday night's proceedings completely aware of my activities and their possible consequences.

I would just ask you all to put yourself in my shoes. Suddenly, after years of being picked on and put down by those at the top of the social pyramid, I find myself the object of the affections of a pretty, popular cheerleader. And not just any pretty, popular cheerleader. One who has, in the past, given me many reasons to feel intimidated and insecure. Then suddenly, one day she wants me. It's exciting. And I've realized lately that I need to try harder to live life to the fullest. And if that introduces some turmoil into my life, well, so be it. It will only enhance my creative capabilities.

And finally, Glee Clubbers, I must tell you that the last few days I have felt empowered, a-and. . free! You may question Santana's motivations, and in fact you may be crazy not to. But you cannot question the effect our time together has had on me. Thank you for your attention."

Brittany started clapping until she realized no one else was.

And then Berry fucking curtsied. Even picturing her O-face barely kept me from tasting bile.

"Rachel, if that's all true, we're happy for you," Mercedes spoke up. "I think part of it is that some of us are just surprised you would do this without being manipulated, because we didn't know you were into girls."

"Oh please, Mercedes, I'm a theatre artist. Same-sex experimentation is as indispensable as an equity card."

"You're going to wind up getting hurt, Rachel," Quinn said, shaking her head. "You think it's exciting and fun but you need to think about who you're dealing with."

"Quinn, with all due respect, I think the history of nastiness between you and Santana is clouding your viewpoint."

"I'm starting to think that's not all that's clouding her viewpoint," I said.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked.

"Never mind. So Berry," I turned and looked straight into her eyes for the first time that day. "Do you want to do it again?"

She looked straight back at me and said breathlessly, "Totally."

I turned my back on the crowd of gaping gleetards and pulled Rachel by the hand down the hall past the choir room and toward the nearest girls' room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Get lost, Puckerman," I said, without turning around, as I pushed the bathroom door open and pulled Rachel inside.

"Damn it!" he said as the door swung closed.

I rushed Rachel past a group of anonymous sweater puppies congregated at the sink and started to pull her into a stall.

"Wait, not that one," she said, tugging at my hand. "That's one of the ones where Quinn drew a pornographic picture of me on the wall. I'll feel like it's watching me."

"Actually, I think that one was mine," I said, and pulled her into the next stall.

I took the collar of her shirt and pushed her back against the stall door, wrapped my fingers over the top of the door, and pressed my body against her.

"So anyway, Berry. That whole speech out there. . .just how into me _are_ you?" I breathed at her with a smile.

"I just. . . I just didn't think it was fair the way they all ganged up on you, even Mr. Schuester," she said.

"Well, lucky for you," I said, "you're about to find out how I reward good behavior."

I tilted my head and took her left earlobe between my teeth, rubbing it slowly up and down with my tongue. I lifted her skirt and pressed my thigh between her legs. She exhaled sharply and pushed her hot little center down onto me.

I held her there for a minute, rocking my leg back and forth against her, working some tension into that tight little belly.

I moved my mouth down to her neck and she dropped her head back with a soft little moan.

"Oh my god, get a room!" one of the girls at the sink yelled.

"Meet you there, but you're paying!" I called out, and Rachel giggled.

"Sometimes you're funny when you're mean to other people," she said.

"Um, I'm hilarious; it's about time you recognize."

"Santana, it's less fun when I'm the target."

"Whatever."

I opened my mouth against hers and ran my left hand into her hair at the side of her face, wrapping it around my fingers.

Her hands fluttered up from my waist and up my sides like she wasn't entirely sure what to do with them. She settled one back around my waist and curled the other around my hair at the base of my neck. She tugged with the latter, probably just being a spaz again, but it was enough to pull my mouth off of hers and let my voice escape my throat in a gasp.

"Oh my god, you liked that," she said, pulling away to grin at me, clearly incredibly proud of herself that she had made me react.

"You pulled my hair, travel-size. It hurt," I said.

"And you are totally lying right now." She gathered more of my hair in a fist, pulling it so hard my head fell back.

"Fuck," I whispered. Okay fine, so hair-pulling might be my Kryptonite.

"Am I making you wet, Santana?" she asked, holding my head back.

I couldn't answer her. She took the hand that had been at my waist and undid my pants, and slid her fingers down the waistband of my underwear.

Her mouth fell open and her eyes closed as her fingertip grazed my slippery skin.

It made her grip on my hair loosen a little, so I put my hand under her skirt, yanked her underwear down her thighs and over her knees, and ran my fingers over her opening, coating them with her wetness. I took my right hand down from the top of the stall door and grabbed her ass, right at her center, pulling her leg up to rest on my hip and opening her body enough to bury my fingers inside her all the way to where they met the palm of my hand.

She winced.

"Relax," I said, "Just relax your muscles."

"Okay. . . okay," she nodded, eyes squeezed shut. She settled down onto my fingers then curled her own wrist and pushed her fingers inside of me.

My eyes rolled back in my head at the feeling of her inside of me. But I smiled inwardly. _Oh honey, this is cute,_ I thought, _but you are not going to win this battle. V-card gone, Santana not playing nice anymore._

I pulled my fingertips forward against her insides and dug the nails of my other hand into her ass. A few strokes into me fucking her nice and rough, her fingers came out of me and clawed at my upper thigh and my hip.

She didn't make any noise this time while I fucked her, other than a lot of quick, shallow breaths. She went limp against me except where her hands clung to the back of my shirt, and I supported all of her body weight with the hand inside her, the hand on her ass, and the pressure I was using to pin her hard against the door.

I closed my eyes and leaned into the friction of her body moving up and down against me with the rhythm of my arm.

The room had long ago cleared out. The only sounds to be heard were fingers sliding against slick skin, the rattle of the door as I fucked her against it, and our breath against each others necks.

She smelled so good. The sweetness of her hair and skin melded with the darker, richer scent of her body. Of a woman about to come.

When she started to be ready for release she arched her back, pushing her hips into me, and I made my motions shorter, quicker.

"Come on, Rachel," I whispered. "Come on, girl, show me."

When she came she let out a choked cry and she gushed, coating my fingers and the palm of my hand with warm stickiness. Fuck. Yes.

I ran my fingers over her clit as she came down, then spread her stickiness across her inner thighs. She would feel that when she took a shower later.

What was left on my hand I ran across my own stomach.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and I let her rest there, recovering.

"That was different. . . from last time," she said, eyes glazed, skin still flushed.

"Yup," I said. "Might hurt tomorrow."

"Bring it," she said.

She suddenly regained her strength, and spun us around until I was the one with my back against the door.

"What's on your mind, Berry?" I asked with a smile.

She looked me in the eye, a little scared but determined, while she reached down and slid her fingers back inside of me.

"Tell me what to do," she whispered, her fingers working in and out of me, voice husky with effort.

My body strained to pull her in, take her to the right places.

"Higher. . ." I panted.

"Left. . .no, my left.. .

"Fuck, YES Rachel. . . . you've got it, right there

right there. ..

right. . .

there. . ."

I held on tight to her hair with one hand and held her body against me with the other, and rode her hand to bring her fingertips in deeper.

She took the hand that wasn't inside of me and lifted my shirt up over my bra. "Stomach," she whispered, by way of explanation.

God, the tension was building. My legs tightened, then my stomach.

"Rachel, give me your mouth, I need your mouth. Kiss me."

I felt fire rise into my cheeks as my body clenched around her fingers. I had to break the kiss as my jaw opened and my head fell back, and I reached down and held onto her hand between my legs while I let my muscles shudder against her. I clung to her hard as it rolled through me, and she did her best to hold me up until I was done.

I leaned back against the corner of the stall and she fell against me.

"Not bad, Berry," I said when I caught my breath.

I expected another stupid grin but she wrinkled up her face, "I clearly need to work out my arms more often if we're going to continue to have these intimate rendezvous. That is very labor-intensive."

In this moment I was actually somewhat amused by her super-ridiculous jabbering, and I laughed, though I vowed to myself to not let that happen again.

"It's not always," I said. "It depends how you do it."

"Do you think the glee club is still out in the hallway?"

"Puckerman probably still has a glass to the door as we speak. Why, are you worried about the walk of shame? Because you know, it's only going to help your image if you stumble out of here with me, especially with our hair looking like this."

"No, it's just if I have to defend you to everyone again we might end up back in here, and I really need to get to the sheet music store before it closes at 6."

"Then, I know it's tough, Berry, but you'll just have to keep your hands off me for the rest of the day."

"What about tomorrow?"

"If I can't find anyone else whose virginity I need to steal by this time tomorrow, maybe we have a date."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

So in some ways taking Berry's v-card was a total mission accomplished. I mean, I so have an air of impressiveness about me now, like even more than before I did it with her. For instance, when I walk down the halls now, guys stand in front of their girlfriends so I can't make eye contact. As if that would make a difference if I decided I wanted them.

Finn pretty much feels terrible about himself, which is awesome, and Puck totally wants me again even though it's sort of dependent on a second girl and he hides it around his pet mastodon. But the best part about it is that all I have to do is stand really close to Rachel at her locker, or give her this look across the room, and he has to carry textbooks in front of his jeans for the next twenty minutes.

Sam and I totally had this heart to heart where I explained why I had to cheat on him. I mean, he had to understand that he brought this on himself. He just wasn't doing enough for my image, and even though I did my best by sitting on his lap in public and threatening the life of any girl who came within three feet of him, he just never amassed the buzz that he should have by being with me. Someone had to break it to him that he was a hopeless case.

He tried to tell me I destroyed any buzz he did have by cheating on him with a girl, as if this was all my fault. Some people have no sense of gratitude.

Anyway, one of the best parts was one I totes wasn't expecting. And that was the complete and utter disgust that radiated from Quinn Fabray every time I entered Rachel Berry's personal space. Quinn pretended like it was all about her moral values or Jesus or whatever, but that little excuse hasn't worked since the second she spread her legs for Noah Puckerman. In any case, now that she was boyfriendless and I was the one with the queen bitch smirk, I didn't waste any of my valuable time thinking about her.

Berry herself was freakishly cool about everything, at least once the drama died down. Getting pussy regularly, even if it was standing up, half-clothed, in a girls' bathroom stall, agreed with her.

Still, I can't say my amazing achievement solved all of my problems. Maybe it was the feeling of accomplishment now that we'd done it a bunch of times that made me think back nostalgically on the challenge of it all. Something was missing, and I was starting to get restless.

That might be why a couple of days later when I was hanging out at Puck's friend's house, the one with the kickass ID that actually works on the clerks at the 7-11 (especially if I stand next to him with the top four buttons of my shirt undone), I threw back five wine coolers in about half an hour.

It mostly made me have to pee, like a lot, but it also totally made me see life so much more clearly. I mean, there's nothing like alcohol to increase your wisdom levels.

So I was laying on the couch, thinking about how freaking wise I was and watching these two paint swirls on the ceiling disappear and reappear, when Puck came and stood over me.

"Uhhh, Santana? Did you just drink five of our 12 wine coolers while I was taking a leak?"

"Ssssshut it, Puckerman," I yelled up at him. "You can just walk on over and get more. Also I think I figured it out, and I think this is for your own good. Because I think it's the wine coolers that made your balls come off. I mean, what high school guy sits around drinking fizzy strawberry daiquiris on a Friday night?"

"Look, I don't care about the coolers, all right? I'm way more concerned about dealing with the cooler fallout. I can't just get naked with you to shut you up this time. I'm trying to woo someone."

I sat up, which was no small feat considering how someone had just started spinning this room on its axis.

"First of all, Noah," I said, poking him in the chest. "This whole thing with your hungry, hungry hippo, you needs to end it, and you needs to end it now. Do you have any idea how this looks for me? You stopped hitting the hottest piece of action at McKinley for that? I mean, it totally devalues and debases my hotness, and that's pretty much a crime against nature. The balance of the space-time continuum is tipping as we speak."

I grabbed onto his mohawk for balance and stood up. "You men are all the same. I mean, Sam didn't even appreciate everything I did for him and now he lets Mercedes flirt with him all the time."

My shoulders started shaking then, which was weird.

"She's... she's trying... to... replace me. And he's going to like her better than me! I mean she's black and sassy and she's such a good singer... Just tell me, Noah, I know he told you that, didn't he?"

Noah sat down and put his hands on his head. "Santana, Sam doesn't talk to me, mostly because he still thinks I slept with you. Santana? Please stop crying."

"I'm not... crying! I'm fine!"

I breathed in three times in a row. "And then there's Quinn. She takes everyone." I walked over to where he was sitting on the couch and leaned over him. "She made you fall in love with her," I said, pointing at him, "She got to Sam first. Even Finncompetent still loves her even after he lost the big V to me. And if she turns gay she'll take Rachel and then she'll take Brittany. Just admit it, you know she will!"

"Wait, Quinn's going to... turn gay? Santana, are any of the girls in glee club straight?"

"Focus, Noah! Listen, I need you to get Brittany to stop liking things on wheels, okay? I mean, I drive a Benz for Christ's sake, and she'd rather ride in an accessible van."

Then I was kissing him, which was weird, because I really didn't feel like doing that.

The next thing I remember is being in his car, but I was crying too hard to be able to see where we were going.

"Who are you texting? Are you texting Lauren? Or Quinn?"

"Santana, I'm right next to you, you don't have to yell. And get off me, I'm trying to text and drive on two wine coolers."

"Fuck you, Puckerman."

I didn't recognize the house we were pulling up to, so it definitely wasn't mine. Actually I didn't recognize anything until we pulled into view of the front porch and there was Berry, standing there in these short little pajamas with ladybugs or some shit on them, with some weird green crap all over her face.

I just sat there staring at her for a minute, totally not understanding why anyone would ever look like that, until the passenger door was opening and Noah was lifting me out of the car by the armpits and dragging me towards Berry's front steps.

"Nice face," he said to her.

"Noah, are you crazy?" she hissed at him. "You brought an underage drinker to my house at one o'clock in the morning while my dads are home?"

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know what else to do."

"Well I don't know either! Why didn't you just take her home?"

"I didn't want to drive to Lima Heights Adjacent, especially at this time of night!"

"Oh please, Noah, you and I both know her father is a doctor and she lives on a cul-de-sac."

I gasped. Oh no she did not. "You shut it, Berry," I said. "I'm hood."

"Then how did you afford a boob job?"

I scowled.

"Whatever," Puck said sheepishly. "It would have been a long drive. Have you seen the price of gas these days?"

"I'm not an idiot," she said. "This is just one of your ill-fated attempts to get us into a three way."

Puck shrugged with this stupid little smile on his face.

"Seriously, Puckerman, my dads are very strict about overnight guests," she said without a shred of irony. "They'll take away my tap shoes."

I felt Noah sigh and start to drag me back down the steps into the car, and for some reason all of a sudden I was crying again.

"Just leave me heeeere!" I said, trying to squirm out of Puck's arms and sit down on the front porch. "It's fine, neither of you wants me and you all like somebody else better, so I'll just sleep right here. Is tomorrow trash day? Maybe I'll sleep at the end of the driveway!" I tried to curl up into a ball.

"Santana, stop yelling," Rachel whispered at me, as she and Puck tried to pull me back up to my feet.

"Stop crying, okay? I'm sorry," she said, and ran her fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face. That felt nice, so I sobbed a little less hard.

"I didn't mean that I didn't want you, Santana. I just need you to not wake up my dads. Please, okay? Come on, let's go inside."

I sniffled and nodded and Puck transferred me over to Rachel's arms.

"This is good, Berry," I said as she helped me to the front door, "Because you know, there's a question I need to answer for Brittany."

Rachel sort of stumbled backwards through her doorway but managed to stick a finger in Noah's face when he tried to follow us inside. "Go home, Puck!"

"Damn it!"

"Santana, I need you to sniffle more quietly, please," Berry whispered at me as we crossed through the living room toward the stairs.

"Rachel," I said, in my very quietest whisper, "Do you ever listen to the things you say and have it suddenly dawn on you why people want to stuff a ballet slipper in your mouth?"

"That's very hurtful, Santana. Given your precarious circumstances, I don't think you are in any position to be berating my choice of diction."

So that was funniest fucking thing I had ever heard even though I barely understood it, and suddenly I was laughing so hard I could barely walk, like even less so than before when I was crying, or whatever.

"Berry... you... are... ridiculous. Seriously," I said when I caught my breath, "I mean, did you sign a contract with the SATs that says you can only use their words?"

"Well, I do memorize twenty flashcards a day, which is a strategy that I highly recommend for getting accepted to the college of your choice, but that is not something I care to discuss right now. Because there needs to be less talking!"

We had reached the stairs now, which was also hilarious.

"Okay, one step at a time, Santana. Now be quiet and just. . . step."

"I think about words too, you know," I said, again in my best whisper, round about when we got to the third stair. "I mean, mostly it's nicknames for people, though. I thought of a good one for you today, do you want to hear it?"

"Not at all."

"Lezberry!" I sat down on the fourth stair and hunched over my knees, shaking with laughter.

"I never thought I would say this, but I think I preferred Spazberry," she muttered, and started yanking me up by my armpits again. "No more talking!"

When we got to Berry's room she rolled me off of her shoulder and deposited me on the bed, then rushed into the bathroom where I could hear the water running. Christ. It looked like Broadway and IKEA had spent a torrid night together that resulted in an illegitimate child who threw up all over this room.

I was trying very hard to remember specific interior design catastrophes that I could use to make fun of her later, but it was hard to focus on anything while the room was spinning like this.

She had trophies, though, I found those on the shelf along her desk. They were tiny and not that impressive, and they were probably for, like, participation in a fourth grade dance recital, but when I saw them I remembered that I would never win a cheerleading trophy ever again, and that my life was truly and completely over.

"Santana, you're crying _again_? What happened to the maniacal laughter?" Berry exclaimed with a furrowed brow when she finally came out of the bathroom. Her face was normal-colored again, and she had a washcloth in her hand. She turned off the overhead light and sat down next to me on the bed.

"Okay, come here," she said.

She slid her arm under me and helped me sit up, and I turned and put my arms around her. It's not like I had a choice. I mean, she was the only one there.

She pulled my hair back from my face and started wiping my eyes with the washcloth. "I hate when I wake up with streaked eye makeup," she said with a little smile.

The cloth was warm and soft and it was making me feel calm and sleepy. Plus I knew I probably looked like a clown somebody put in a blender, so I let her continue.

Then a sad thought popped into my head and I said, "You're only being nice to me so I don't wake up your gay dads."

"Interesting theory. And you're only here because drowning your sorrows in alcohol wasn't enough tonight, and now you need meaningless sex as well."

Now I was awake. "Whoa okay, hold the phone, gold star," I said, pulling my face away from her. "Things is gettin' a little judgmental up in here all the sudden."

"Well, is it not true? I mean, twenty minutes ago you curled up on my front porch and threatened to let the Department of Sanitation haul you away to the Lima landfill because everybody likes somebody else better. But you're exactly the same way – you can't tell me you wouldn't rather be somewhere else right now, and yet here you are having a pity party of one."

I flopped backwards down on the bed and the world turned into swirls. "Okay, fine, BERRY," I said, exasperated. "I'm here because I like touching your naughty parts. Yours, like, specifically. Is that what you need to hear?"

She laid down on her side next to me. "I don't need this to be meaningful," she said quietly. "I just don't want to be to someone you fall back on just because you get lonely. Or drunk."

"No Berry, you know this. It's like... it's like, in the middle."

"What?"

"You know, in the middles. Between meaning and not. Like what you said."

"I don't think I said anything like that, to be quite honest."

Why was she saying so many hysterical things tonight? Whatever, she was so hot when she was confused. I pushed her over onto her back and held myself over her.

"I'm _here_ because you _get_ me, Berry. I know what's up, and you know what's up. And I know you let me get away with however much your Berry brain wants me to get away with. I mean, I'm waaasted off my ass fo' sho' but I still know I'm here because you want me here. I push you, you let me win, and that be how this works."

She laid there quietly for a minute and let me brush my lips across her face.

"And what would you say if I told you I think you are constantly selling yourself short and making decisions that only further your unhappiness, and that you need to stop messing around and get your shit together, so to speak?"

I laid down on top of her, exhausted from holding myself up during all this damn talking, and rested my face against her neck. She laid her hands on my back.

"I know that okay, Berry? Like, I do. But can you not say anything else right now? Can we just... can we just make each other happy tonight, please?"

She hugged me tighter for a second and I felt her sigh.

"Okay," she said. "Yeah, I think we can do that."

I pushed her down into the bed and wrapped my arms under her. She wrapped her feet around my ankles and wove her hands into my hair.

I was so wired from all the crying. And the laughing. And then the crying. I needed this fast. I yanked off her little tank top and slid her shorts down her legs like immediately. No underwear under there. Fuck yeah.

I stood on my knees and pulled my dress up over my head, unhooked my bra and peeled it off, then threw my underwear to the foot of her bed.

I laid back down to feel the length of her hot skin under mine. She ran the soles of her feet up and down my legs and her nails across my back. I pulled back from the waist up so that I could look down at her.

I ran my hand from her neck to her hip and whispered, "So fucking sexy."

She looked away but I pulled her chin back toward me with two fingers.

"I want to taste you, Rachel. Can I do that?"

She nodded. "I've never done this before."

"I think you might like it," I said.

I wrapped my arms around her body again, and pulled her up to the top of her bed, laying her head on her pillows. I dragged my nipples down across her body, draped her legs over my shoulders, and opened her body with my fingers.

My mouth watered at her scent. I was so not in the mood for a slow burn. I buried my tongue inside her.

She moaned and tightened her legs around me. I rested my hands on the protrusion of her hips, holding on firmly and moving her body up and down as I slid my tongue in and out of her, listening to her whimper.

I dragged my tongue upwards and took her clit between my lips, flicking it lightly with my tongue at first, and feeling her body shake. I hit a good rhythm where the muscles of her thighs shuddered every time I made contact, so I held her exactly there, feeling the hot skin of her thighs buzzing like electricity against me.

I sucked her clit into my mouth and rolled it in circles under my tongue. She was writhing under me now, one leg wrapped around the back of my neck and the other bracing herself against the mattress.

This was mine now, all I had to do was finish it. Her clit was fiery hot against my tongue and hard as a little pebble, and I flattened it against her body with my tongue. She came with a scream muffled by her own arm and her other hand buried in my hair. I kept my mouth against her and felt her skin soften on my lips.

Her body relaxed but I stayed, teasing her opening with my tongue – waiting, coaxing out more of what she had to give me.

I was rewarded with a sticky slickness that coated my lips. I ran them across her soft inner thighs and lower belly. Then I slid a finger inside of her and wrapped my lips around her clit again.

I curled my finger against her g-spot and rubbed the tip of her clit almost imperceptibly with my tongue. She threw her head back and cried out with every exhale. Her pussy clenched around my finger and she came hard, fast.

"Santana, come here," she whispered urgently, pulling at my hair and guiding my face upwards.

She guided my legs under me on either side of her hips and pulled me down against her. My wetness was slippery against her belly, and I rolled my hips just slightly, dragging it across her skin like, _look what you did to me_.

She wriggled her hand beneath my body and curled her fingers upwards. "Let me inside," she whispered.

I slid myself down onto her fingers, leaned forward, and braced myself against her headboard.

She closed her eyes and I touched her face. "Look at me, Rachel," I whispered. "I need you to watch me."

Her eyelids fluttered and her lips were parted as she looked up at me. She looked first at my face and then watched my body as I rode her fingers slowly up and forward, down and back.

"Yeah, I need more," she whispered, and sat up, wrapping her free arm around me and pulling me against her.

The change of position sank her fingers inside me so deeply that my eyes rolled back in my head.

"Come on, you won't break me," she whispered at me. "You're drunk, for Christ's sake. Give me something to watch." She grasped the bottom of my hair and pulled so hard that my back arched.

"_Fuck_, Rachel!" I wrapped my legs around her waist and leaned back, supporting myself with one arm and holding onto her hair at the base of her neck with the other. I used the muscles of my thighs to raise and lower my body, riding her fingers.

"Faster," she said, and started pumping her fingers in and out of me.

I closed my eyes and bounced on her fingers, finding and then matching her rhythm. It was rough, and if I weren't drunk, it probably would have hurt. I felt sweat break out across my skin and my body got tighter, and tighter, and then tighter, until the sound of Rachel's panting with effort against my neck and the smell of her skin put me over the top and the tension broke, so hard, inside of me.

I collapsed on her, sticky from sex across my inner thighs, slick with sweat everywhere else, and most definitely dizzy from alcohol and exertion. I kissed her neck, wrapped my arm around her, and passed out, like hardcore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

I woke up sprawled out on my belly, with my hair in my face, surrounded by pillows. I couldn't remember at first whose bed I was in, and there was nobody in it next to me to help me figure it out.

Then I glanced at the dresser next to me and saw Berry's damn ladybug pajamas folded into a neat little square. I rolled onto my back and lifted up the comforter. Yep, naked. It was coming back to me now. Wine coolers. Puck's car. Lots of crying. Lots of. . . Rachel's legs wrapped around my neck. I smirked and then winced as I made my way up to a sitting position. My body did not enjoy moving right now.

I scanned the floor to see where I had thrown my clothes, only to find them folded neatly on the nightstand next to me - beside a robe, a glass of water, a bottle of aspirin, and what I could only assume was the bathroom wastebasket.

Much as I didn't want to encourage Berry's apparent obsessive-compulsive-drunken-hookup-hostess disorder, my head didn't feel the greatest, so I downed two aspirin and the glass of water.

I unfolded the robe. It was light pink, with ruffles on the sleeves and around the bottom hem. I crumpled it into a ball and set it back on the nightstand, grabbed my dress from last night, and staggered into the bathroom.

I used Berry's toothpaste on my finger in place of a toothbrush, and sort made an attempt to calm my hair, although it still looked like the morning after someone's hands had been all through it. Which is fine, because let's be honest, I kind of rock that look.

Now I needed to find the fastest way out of here.

When I came out of the bathroom, Berry was standing in her doorway, holding a small plate with a toasted bagel in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.

"Hi," she said timidly.

Damn it. "Hi," I rasped, my voice not cleared of morning frogginess yet.

"How are you feeling?"

"Well, my mouth feels a little like sandpaper but I'm not going to ralph, okay, if that's what you're worried about," I said, glancing at the strategically-placed wastebasket. "It was just a few wine coolers. I know I have a track record and everything, but normal people don't mix together six different kinds of liquor, Robitussin, and sandwich cookies, then serve it to a bunch of people who are about to go jump around onstage."

"Noted," she said. "You should eat, then."

"Thanks, um. . . I'm not hungry, though. Those poodles on your knee socks are kind of killing my appetite." I started to head toward the door. "I'm just going to go. I'll call my dad from your driveway."

She shifted in front of me to block my path to the door.

"Oh," I said, remembering her dads. "Did you want me to go out the window? It's cool, that's what I normally do."

"No, that won't be necessary. My dads are at the Saturday morning Farmer's Market in Lima Square. They'll be bickering over which type of summer squash to buy for the next two hours or so."

"So many jokes to make and such a bad headache. It just isn't fair," I muttered. I fished my phone out of my purse and fired off a quick text to my dad.

She was just standing there, looking at me expectantly. "You seriously don't have to wait around," I said, shifting my weight back and forth. "Just go do whatever Berry things you do to fill up the hours until your next rehearsal for something."

Berry rolled her eyes.

"Just sit down, Santana. Have breakfast. The only thing you've put in your body in the last twelve hours is carbonated alcoholic sugar water."

I sat on her bed and she shoved the bagel into my hand. I glared at her and took a bite.

God, I was trapped at Rachel Berry's house. This was like a nightmare I had once, only without the killer piranhas or Coach Sylvester in a sequined gown.

She sat next to me, setting her hands awkwardly in her lap. All I could hear was my own chewing.

"So, any weekend plans?" she asked cheerfully.

By the sweet mercy of Jesus, my phone buzzed before I had to try to actually engage in this conversation.

_Golfing till 3. Mom's with client. Call ur friend B?_

"Ugh. People over 25 should not be allowed to use texting slang." I turned to Berry. "I'm stuck here. I'm going to have to call Puck."

She scrunched up her face. "I'd really rather he didn't show up on this doorstep again for a while, especially not with you here. His lewd advances are growing tiresome."

"Yeah, you know, normally I wouldn't think twice about him trying to get in my pants, but something lately is just wrong. I think it's the Zizes. But what do you suggest I do, then? And if you tell me to take the bus I will be using that wastebasket after all."

"Why don't you just wait until my dads get home, and then they can drive you? We can say you got a flat tire in the neighborhood this morning, or something."

"You want me to stay here for the next two hours?" I looked at her in horror. "No, I'll just steal a car - are any of your neighbors old and frail?"

"Don't be silly, this will be fun!" she said, turning to face me, sitting Indian-style on the bed and taking my hands in hers. "We can have our first real conversation!"

"Um, can't we just watch TV like normal people? I think there's a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon on today."

"I'd rather have girl talk. I mean, I can learn so much from you, and let's face it I can use all the advice I can get. Tell me about your first time - with a boy, I mean. Was it romantic?"

"Uhh, it was in the boys' locker room at St. Teresa's Middle School. So no, not really."

She frowned.

"Look, Berry," I said, taking my hands from hers and standing up. "I'm not really feeling this, if you know what I'm saying. I, like, thought we were on the same page, here. We enjoy each others' company for a very specific set of activities, and then we go our separate ways. I don't want to have girl talk with you, or whatever, I just want to get through this so I can go home and sweat out my hangover in my mom's new tanning bed. Maybe these little meetings of ours were a bad idea."

She flinched and looked up at me like a kicked puppy.

I thought she was about to start the full-on waterworks, but instead she brushed her eyelashes with her hand and looked back up at me with her eyes big and flashing.

"You know, Santana, I get it. Rejecting other people makes you feel powerful. And you're trying to get me to be angry with you so I'll give up, and leave you alone. But you know what? This hot and cold act? It's getting old. And if I'm tired of it, I can only imagine how. . . those who have had to deal with it longer must feel.

But I have news for you. It does not make me hate you and want to leave you alone; it makes me feel sorry for you. And this is not something about which I can hold my tongue any more. So you know what? Sit back down."

I rolled my eyes, but I was trapped here. And I was sort of embarrassed about crying all over her last night and I sort of regretted almost making her cry just now. So I sat back down on the bed.

"Fine," I said.

She raised her left index finger and pointed at me dramatically.

"I have spent a lot of time in my life trying to understand you, Santana. First it was why you felt the need to always make me a target, then it was why you felt the need to pick fights in the hallways or screw up relationships among our group of misfit comrades. Then it was why you wanted to be with me.

I always found a way to understand. It usually wasn't that hard, in fact. But there's something now that has me utterly stymied, so I have a question that, while it may seem rhetorical, actually demands a satisfactory reply."

Christ, someone needed to make syllable limits into a law or something.

She continued, "Are you completely unaware of your own needs, or are you enlightened but simply too repressed or insecure to act on them?

Because, let me tell you what I see, looking at you now. And what I hear, when you sit here and tell me not in so many words to stop expecting interaction of any kind except for sex."

She lowered her voice so that it was barely above a whisper and leaned in toward me.

"What I see is a girl who does her best to push people away in the light of day, but practically bleeds she's so raw when you get her into intimate circumstances."

I see a girl who publicly revels in her casual conquests, but in bed with a woman she begs to be kissed while she's coming. A girl who pleads to be watched while I'm fucking her, because she wants to be seen by someone at her most vulnerable. I see a girl who is crying out for intimacy, for emotional connection, but who won't admit it, probably even to herself. Because deep down she knows that if she admits who she wants it from, and that she wants it to last longer than the length of a random sexual encounter, her life is going to have to change, and she just cannot handle that."

My cheeks burned hot with anger, with embarrassment. Tears started to sting the backs of my eyes. Who the fuck did she think she was?

"Santana," she continued, with the same quiet intensity. "Have you ever thought about why it is that you cry hysterically every time you drink? About what you must be working so hard to hold back all the time, that it bursts out the moment intoxication forces you to loosen your grip on the reins? Have you ever wondered why you feel the need to misrepresent your upbringing to make people think you're dangerous? Or why for as beautiful as you already were, you felt like you needed to resort to plastic surgery to get people to like you?"

She looked down at my hands in my lap and reached out to take them into hers. I stared beyond my feet hanging from the side of her bed at a patch of carpeting, trying to let her words run over me without seeping in the cracks, not sure if I was about to cry or reach across and slap her.

"I know this isn't easy to hear, but someone has to say it to you. Because I see a girl who is sabotaging herself, too afraid to go after what - or whom - she really wants."

My head and my heart were pounding. I had to get out of here, away from her.

I lifted her hands from my lap and looked her in the eye while I threw them back at her, walked to the bathroom with as much composure as I could, and slammed the door, locking myself inside.

I sat on the side of the bathtub and tried to make sure the tears came out as silently as possible. I guess this is what they mean by karma. I just had to go after Rachel, to make it into a game. Well, she sure came after me. It kept running through my head that I never would have expected how mean she could be. I tried to hate her, but it was like my body didn't have the will. I mostly just felt exhausted.

I ignored her knocking on the door. Christ, drunken hookups were just not the same with girls. It's like you have to pay for every orgasm with twenty minutes of relentless emotional pain.

After the third or fourth time she knocked and called my name, I heard the scraping of metal against metal in the bathroom doorknob, and a few seconds later the door creaked open. I stood up as Berry peeked her head in the room, straightened paper clip in hand.

"What the hell?" I said, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands.

"We're all a little dramatic in this household," she said, sort of apologetically. "If we didn't have such cheap locking mechanisms on all of our doors, our problems would probably never be resolved."

I tried to push past her to get out of the bathroom, but she blocked my path and stood against the door.  
>"I'm sorry," she said, trying to take my wrists in her hands. "I've been told I'm sometimes overly blunt. You hurt my feelings and I lost my aptitude for tact."<p>

I pulled my hands away from her yet again. "Yeah, well. It's so easy for you, isn't it, Rachel? You can sit there and list off everything wrong with me. And maybe I deserve that from you. But you don't get to judge how hard this is for me, or what it takes to confront it."

"I know. I mean, you're right, I don't know. But Santana. . . " her voice broke and trailed off, tears welling up in her eyes. "I promise, I'm not judging you. I am so happy that you're admitting there's even something to confront. Because as much as I enjoy our activities, as you put it, I would like it even more if I could help you be happy."

I scoffed. "You can't help me, Rachel. You may not be with who you want, but at least nobody is judging you for who that is. Nobody is laughing at your broken heart because who you are is a fucking punchline to them."

She nodded and bit her bottom lip. "You're right, I can't fix that. But I think if you take a look around you that you might realize I am the one person who is asking to listen to you."

I felt a fresh set of tears slide down my cheeks. This time when she tried to take my hands I let her. "I can't do this," I whispered, shaking my head.

She pulled me against her and I bent to rest my head on her shoulder. She put one hand on the back of my neck and the other held me firmly at the small of my back.

"Yes, you can. And I can help you, if you let me. What was it you told me?" She pulled back to smile at me. "You likes what you likes? You just have to act like you mean that."

I gave her a small sigh and looked up at the ceiling. "It's not liking things that's the problem."

"I know," she nodded. "You love who you love."

I breathed in sharply and a sob caught in my throat. Damn her.

I put my head back down on her shoulder. My body felt heavy, and the pit of my stomach was doing flip-flops. "I love her," I whispered into Rachel's neck.

She squeezed my body against her. "I know," she whispered back. She put a hand on either side of my face and brought her lips gently to mine. "I'm here for you. Okay? Whenever you're ready to take the next step. I'm here. You don't even have to be nice to me in school, or anything."

"Good thing," I said, with a half-laugh, half-sob.

I held onto her for a minute, resting against her and letting her hold up some of my weight, because it felt good. It felt like relief. And if I could do this. . . well, then maybe this whole fucking situation wasn't as hopeless as it seemed.

"You know, Berry," I said between sniffles, "I would say you should become a therapist, but I don't think they let you berate people into opening up to you."

"Well, I don't know about that," she said, reaching to the counter behind me to grab a tissue and then dabbing at my face. "But I do know that we spend entirely too much time against bathroom doors together."

"I've never heard you complaining. Moaning, maybe, but not complaining."

"Yes, well, nonetheless."

She brushed my hair out of my face and gave me this little smile. I tried, but I couldn't think of one single insult to break the silence. I worried that she might have ruined me forever, but then I glanced down at her poodle socks, and knew I would be just fine.

"Do you want to go sit on the couch and watch TV, like normal people?" she asked.

"Can we watch Real Housewives and not, like, PBS's Broadway Hits of the 1940's?"

"Sure," she said, guiding me out of the bathroom with a hand on my back. "You know, I've been meaning to do more research into reality television. As you know, I won't rule out any pathway to stardom, even if it is initially lowbrow and demeaning."

"Oh bet on it, Berry, I fully intend to be one of the Real Housewives someday. It's part of my ten-year plan."

"That's perfect!" she exclaimed, as we headed down the stairs. "They're so much more likely to cast us together if we have a lesbian affair in our past. I mean, what an opportunity for drama!"

"As if you need opportunities to be dramatic."

"You're one to talk. Santana, I have to say, I think our future is incredibly bright."

"Plans for world domination aside, I'm going to need less talking while my show is on, Berry."

She smiled at me wide-eyed as we reached the bottom of the stairs and took my hand, leading me into her living room.

_fin_


End file.
